


Tennis Whites

by YesIsAWorld



Category: Harry Styles (Musician), Louis Tomlinson (Musician), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Nanny Harry, Summer, Tennis Instructor Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld/pseuds/YesIsAWorld
Summary: Harry settles himself on the bench, puts his sunglasses on, and focuses his attention on the court.There, in all his glory, is Louis Tomlinson.





	Tennis Whites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsofeverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsofeverything/gifts).

> Happy Birthday, [Lauren](http://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/)!!! I apologize that this is late, but it's not a full YEAR late like your gift fic from last year. Maybe next year I'll post on time. I love you to bits and I hope this is your best year ever and you deserve every happiness in the world. Hopefully this fic puts a smile on your face!  
[Based on this prompt](https://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/186820611225/someone-write-me-a-fic-where-harry-always-wears)
> 
> And thank you to [disgruntledkittenface](http://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/) for the beta. Love you!!!!

Harry slides his hands down his shirt and takes one last look in the mirror. His tanning hours have paid off; the stark white of his shorts and short-sleeved polo contrast nicely with his tanned skin. The summer is only beginning and he’s sure to get darker as he plans to spend most of his free time outside, at the country club, soaking up the rays, while working his nanny gig. 

He turns, narrowing his eyes and trying to decide if the short shorts are too short. Harry wouldn’t consider himself a vain person, but his legs look good in them if he does say so himself. Fuck it. If he’s doing this, then he’s going to really do it and that means showing off the long length of his legs since that last growth spurt.

He sprays on another layer of deodorant. There’s not much to be done about his hair. He pulls the curls into his face, mussing them up a bit as he goes, and then pushes them out of his face and to the side. He loves his curls, they help proportionalize his oversized features that he hopes he grows into eventually. Over the past year, his first year at college, he started losing some of his baby fat, finally, but he still has a bit of growing to do. There’s not much to be done with his face either, or the smattering of pimples he can’t permanently banish, so with one last look in the mirror he swings his car keys—and all his many keychains—around his finger, and he heads out to pick up the kiddos.

For their tennis lesson with Louis Tomlinson. 

Harry nearly had a heart attack when he saw the name on the loose leaf note for the kids’ weekly schedule. 

Harry hadn’t thought about Louis Tomlinson for like two years before he saw that note. In high school, Harry was not _ obsessed, _ because that makes him sound weird and scary, but, well, maybe a little obsessed with Louis. Louis was a couple of years ahead of him, and gorgeous and athletic and confident, the class clown—all things Harry strived to be. But he’s definitely over his crush and Harry’s now an experienced college man and can handle watching Louis teach tennis to some kids for an hour a day for a month. 

No problem whatsoever. 

The parking lot is crowded, the swim lesson nannies have taken all the good spots right by the entrance since the lessons happen before the pool opens to everyone else, so he parks in the second lot, swings his backpack onto a shoulder, and walks with the kids up the small hill to the tennis courts. There’s a pretty good crowd of helicopter moms standing at the chain link fence, watching their kids on the other side. They give Harry tight, judgemental smiles when he walks up with his charges. Harry thought they were right on time, but with the number of kids sitting on court, he reassesses and figures they must be one of the last families to arrive. Which is fine. He’s still early. He pushes the kids’ water bottles into their hands and gently shoves them toward the door in the fencing. 

With that all done, Harry settles himself on the bench, puts his sunglasses on, and focuses his attention on the court.

There, in all his glory, is Louis Tomlinson. 

He’s in tight shorts, pulled tighter by the bulging tennis balls stuffed in his pockets, and an oversized tank top, highlighting his toned biceps and slim torso. Harry was hoping that maybe the version of Louis stuck in his brain, Harry’s perfect guy, was rose-colored in the way that idolizing someone from afar often was. Or the way that memories are warped and perfected by time, shaving off the rough edges of how things actually were. 

But no, the Louis of Harry’s mind is devastatingly worse in person; he’s got scruff now. And he’s handsome in a way that makes Harry short of breath. The playful jock who never seemed to take anything seriously is an _ athlete _ with the perfect amount of muscle, a twinkle in his eye, and huge smiles for all the kids sitting nervously in front of him. 

Harry planned on catching up on some reading while he waited for the kids, but ends up spending the entire morning entranced by the way Louis moves around the court. The hours pass quickly, and before Harry knows it, all of the campers are filing out of the court and passing their rackets off to their moms. Or nannies, as the case may be. Louis’ saying goodbye to everyone, waving them off and telling him he’ll see them the next day, when he catches Harry’s eye, and Harry watches as Louis does a double take. 

Harry quickly averts his eyes. “So kids, ready to change and spend the day at the pool?” he asks as he shuffles them toward the car to switch out their tennis gear with their pool bags. He wasn’t avoiding Louis, per se, but he didn’t expect Louis to notice him in any way, and the subtle recognition in Louis’ eyes threw him off enough that he panicked. But it’s fine. It’s all fine. He can definitely survive the rest of the month. He’ll just need to plan better distractions. 

— — — 

It’s been a solid two weeks of Harry doing a bang up job of panic-ignoring Louis whenever he looked Harry’s way, and subtly, probably creepily, relentlessly staring at Louis whenever he was busy actually working the camp. Harry thought he had grown since his high school days, had gotten more mature while away at college, was at least tiptoeing towards adulthood, but this second round of long-distance pining toward Louis Tomlinson proves to him that he hasn’t actually done any work towards emotional maturity at all. Getting drunk and making out with whoever was cute and willing was not the same _ at all _ as trying to work up the courage to wave to, let alone talk to Louis. 

Last time he saw Louis, before the tennis courts, was during Louis’ senior year when he held court over the lunch room, surrounded by a ring of friends, and normally an outer ring of admirers. Harry was always across the room, watching with intense jealousy as his sister flipped her hair and flirted obviously with Louis. It was that summer, when Gemma graduated, that she had come home distraught from some party, having learned that Louis was in fact, gay. Harry tried to feel sorry for her, he did, but mostly he was impressed that he had correctly pegged Louis. 

Harry’s done a stellar job of not embarrassing himself at the club this summer, he really has, and he’s already halfway done. He tries not to think about the fact that avoiding talking to Louis Tomlinson means he’ll never actually get to talk to Louis Tomlinson as the line at the concession stand inches forward. It’s not until he’s second in line, repeating the kids’ order in his head so he doesn’t forget—Swedish Fish and two Icees, one red and one blue, just the right amount of sugar to work off in the water all afternoon—that he feels a prickling at the back of his neck, like someone’s standing too close. 

He looks over his shoulder and of course it’s Louis Tomlinson because Harry can never catch a break. He snaps his head forward, and tilts his head up toward the sun, closing his eyes tightly behind his sunglasses.

“Harry? Styles?”

And, of course, Harry’s heard Louis’ voice from the sidelines this summer. Shouts of encouragement across the court, the low murmurs of direction to individual campers. But it’s one thing to hear the echo of his voice as Harry tries to hide how closely he’s watching him from behind his sunglasses; it’s an entirely different thing to hear it, really hear it, up close and directed at him. Somehow, over the past few years, Harry forgot the lilting sound of Louis’ voice. It feels impossible, to forget such an intrinsic thing about Louis; the high rasp of his voice and how Harry could’ve listened to him talk forever.

Harry turns slowly, trying to quickly process if it’s better to pretend he doesn’t know Louis or not.

“Louis! Hi,” Harry says, as he somehow trips over his own feet, just standing there, twisting his body.

“Oops,” Louis says, his arms coming out to steady Harry.

Harry’s acutely aware of how he’s been sweating in the sun for hours. This is not the ideal situation for Louis’ strong fingers to be gripping him, yet it’s the most sublime moment of Harry’s life.

“I thought that was you. You’re watching the twins this summer?”

Harry nods dumbly. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. “You know who I am?” Oh god, he’s been staring at Louis for weeks and Louis _ knew. _Louis could remove his hands from Harry’s love handles and the ground could open up and swallow Harry and he could live the rest of his life in embarrassed despair.

Louis tilts his head in a cute, confused, way. “Of course.” Louis abruptly pulls his hands away, and flips his hair off his forehead. “Gemma’s little brother.” Harry’s entranced by Louis’ fingers. They’re so delicate. But so strong.

“Yeah.” Harry takes a step forward and tries to remember what it was he needs to order. “Gemma.” 

“Is she… uh, she’s doing okay?”

“Yeah, uh, she’s doing an internship this summer. In the city. She works like, grown-up hours and has to wear office clothes and stuff.” Harry doesn’t want to grow up. It sounds terrible.

“What can I get you?” 

The sound of the lifeguard behind the snack counter grabs Harry’s attention. He quickly turns away from Louis and orders for the kids, and a bottle of water for himself, since he’s suddenly _ very _ thirsty. He keeps looking forward as he waits for her to gather his order. Louis waits quietly behind him, but Harry can feel acutely how close he’s standing. 

Harry signs the slip with the kids’ parents’ member number, and turns to bid farewell to Louis. But Louis reaches out and gently grasps his forearm, and Harry freezes. Louis orders himself a water as Harry tries to control his breathing. Louis drops Harry’s arm when he pays, but Harry stays right where he is. Louis gives the lifeguard a bright smile and turns to Harry. “Harry, I—”

“I’m gay,” Harry blurts out.

Louis’ eyes go wide. “Oh.” He’s quiet for a long moment, and Harry hopes he’s not imagining the heat coming from Louis’ eyes as he stares at Harry’s. “Me too.”

Harry nods. “Cool.”

“Can we go out?” Louis asks in a rush. “I mean, would you like to go out with me. On, a, you know, on a date?”

Harry nods again. He’s never actually been on a date before. He feels like he’s having a stroke. Not that he knows what that feels like. But then Louis’ face splits into a grin as he says “sick” and Harry can feel his cheeks burn with how hard he’s suddenly smiling. He tries to reel it in, so it doesn’t show that this is his greatest dream come true. He’s got a chance with Louis Tomlinson.

— — — 

After swapping numbers, they text a few times through the afternoon. Harry requests—because if he’s getting a shot, he’s taking it—that they have a tennis date. Instead of Louis picking him up, Harry can meet him at the courts and Louis can show him how to hit it from all angles. It takes a tiny bit of convincing—it’s flattering that Louis wants to look nice for the date, but Harry has an almost utter obsession with Tennis Pro Louis, and wants at least one date with that version of him.

Harry arrives when the sun is setting and parks in the emptying parking lot. Louis is squatting on the edge of the court, his phone in his hands, and Harry can’t pull his eyes away from the bulge of his thighs. When Harry rattles the chain link fence surrounding the courts, Louis fumbles then drops his phone, before scrambling to stand up. 

“Harry! Hey,” he says, breathless. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry says. He was aiming for the opposite, actually. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Louis tosses his phone back and forth between his hands. “Sorry. Just. Nervous. I don’t…” He swipes a hand through his hair then drops his phone in his tennis bag. “Never had a tennis date before. Feeling a little out of my element.”

Harry laughs, loud and sudden. “But, you’re the one that teaches tennis all day. Surely you don’t think I’m so terrible that I’m unteachable.”

“No. Oh god. No. No, no no. Not that,” Louis babbles. “You’re just…” Louis pauses as he looks Harry up and down. Harry tries and fails not to preen under his gaze. “You’re so hot. And we’re going to be close. And, uh.” Louis’ chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “Wow. You look so good.”

Harry shakes his head, and his curls bounce, as he pretends he hadn’t agonized over his outfit. His shorts are new short athletic shorts that show off the thighs he’s built while running (almost) every morning while at school. He paired it with a black, slightly oversized, tank top, which is so thin the tattoos on his torso are almost visible. Louis’ eyes keep getting stuck on his chest, then dart down to legs, and back up to his face, so he’s counting it a success. It’s not like he plans on wearing it for long. 

“Thanks. I don’t understand how you can look so good after teaching all day.”

Louis presses his lips together and it looks like he’s trying not to smile too big. His eyes give him away, the way they’re glittering in the bright overhead lights.

“Shall we?” Louis asks, spinning his racket around his finger.

“Let’s do it,” Harry says with a practiced crooked grin.

Louis tucks in behind Harry, his hips pressed against Harry’s ass, arms wrapped around Harry’s, as they hold the racket together and practice Harry’s swing. Harry can hardly breathe, Louis smells of a good hard workout, sweat and _ man, _ after a day in the sun. Harry lasts as long as he can, until he thinks he’s going to go out of his skin with anticipation, then spins around in Louis’ arms, ducks his head slightly, and whispers into Louis’ ear, “Is there somewhere more private we could go, for a little more, hands-on practice?” Harry’s chest is heaving, as though he was the one running around a court all day and not just practically standing still in the curve of Louis’ body for fifteen minutes. 

“Dirty boy,” Louis whispers back, hot air on Harry’s neck make the smallest of hairs stand up. 

Louis swats Harry’s ass with his racket as he ushers Harry off the court and into a building just off to the side, one Harry had barely given two glances at in the past few weeks. It was cinder block, windowless, and most importantly, close. Louis unlocks it with a key he pulls out of his tennis bag, then drops the bag to the floor as they shuffle in and the door slams behind them.

“Storage shed,” Louis says.

“Perfect,” Harry responds, dropping his racket too. 

Louis reaches out a hand and takes Harry’s in his. He squeezes as he links their fingers, and looks at Harry with wide, inquisitive eyes. Harry steps closer, bringing them toe to toe, and combs his fingers into the long wisps at the nape of Louis’ neck. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” Harry whispers, his voice thick with want.

Louis makes a noise of assent, and blinks his eyes slowly. Harry watches the dark line of his lashes as they close, then open to reveal Louis’ deep blue eyes again. His lashes are so long, so gorgeous, and Harry’s swept away by the thought that he’s never seen such perfect eyelashes, that Louis’ lashes will be the lashes by which all others he judges. 

Not that he’s judged other people’s before. 

Louis brings his other hand up to Harry’s face, thumbing along his jawline. Harry’s heart races. If he just tips forward, the slightest bit, he could be kissing Louis Tomlinson. Louis’ breath is warm and sweet when he says, “Better make it worth it.” 

Then it’s Louis who inches forward and connects their lips, as Harry’s knees go weak. Harry’s tense at first, because he’s actually, really, somehow, kissing Louis’ thin lips, but then Louis parts them, and tentatively swipes his tongue against the seam of Harry’s lips, then Harry’s opening up and _ tasting _ Louis. He loses himself after that, worries and thoughts drifting away as he focuses on the sensations, chasing what feels good and pressing himself against Louis. 

Eventually he works up the nerve to move his hands farther south, feeling the thick muscle of Louis’ biceps as he mouths at Louis’ neck, then reaching around to get a handful of Louis’ glorious ass. Louis moans, his hips notch forward into Harry’s, and then he’s kissing Harry on the mouth again, more forcefully, with more determination. 

“Are you sure about this?” Louis asks, panting into Harry’s mouth as he gropes Harry’s ass through the thin nylon fabric. 

Harry’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life. A date with Tennis Pro Louis is the best idea he’s ever had.

Louis moves his hand up, pulling Harry’s shorts with it, and pinches the exposed skin where his ass meets his thigh. “Are you not wearing underwear?” Louis asks, scandalized. 

Harry whines, embarrassed. “Easier access. Was… hoping…” It was hard to focus on words when Louis’ body was so _ insistently _ there.

“Naughty boy,” Louis teases, glee evident in his voice. “What were you hoping for?”

Harry takes Louis’ hand and presses it against the long line of his hard dick. “For you to feel how much I want you.”

Louis slides his hand up to the elastic waistbands and hooks two fingers inside, hinting at pulling down Harry’s shorts. “This okay?”

“More than. Please. Just—” Harry wiggles his hips and with the hand not currently wrapped around Louis’ neck, he pushes one side of his shorts down a few inches. Thankfully, Louis gets with the program and pulls down the other side, so they’re halfway down his thighs and his cock is finally free, bobbing in the precious little space between their bodies. Harry spits in his hand and slicks up his dick, groaning as he relieves the pressure with a small squeeze.

“You wanna—” Overwhelmed, Harry closes his eyes. “I like it wet. But didn’t— I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Louis chuckles. “Forgot to pack your lube?” He spits into his hand and with his other swats Harry’s hand away. “My turn.”

Harry throws his head back when Louis properly has his hand on him. He already feels impossibly close from just that and he wants to hold out for as long as he can, prolong the divine feeling of Louis’ rough hand around him. He’s had some drunken handies in club stalls, but nothing compares to Louis’ precise movements, the perfect twist at the crown. He’s in heaven and he’s going to come far too quickly. 

Louis kisses him again, insistent and rough, without losing the steady rhythm of his hand. Harry’s brain turns to mush as his balls tighten up and the feeling builds. He cries out as the pleasure crests over him. 

Louis works him through the aftershocks, as Harry catches his breath, then Louis brings his hand to his mouth and licks his fingers. Harry’s never seen anything so hot. He pulls up his shorts, wincing as the elastic gets caught on his oversensitive head, and drops to his knees. 

“Oh!” Louis places a firm hand on Harry’s head, stopping him from moving closer. “I’m— You don’t have to.”

“But I want to,” Harry practically whines. He loves giving blow jobs. It would be an absolute honor to blow Louis Tomlinson. He yanks Louis’ shorts down, and sees that he’s wearing tighty whities. 

“I didn’t think—”

“It’s hot, on you, somehow,” Harry says.

“Thanks? I think?” Louis says. 

“But they’re not what I came here for.” Harry nuzzles into fabric for a moment, nosing at Louis’ dick, imagining what it’s going to feel like when he gets it into his mouth and gets to make Louis come. Then he slides them down as well, so they’re pooling at Louis’ feet with his shorts.

Louis crosses his hands in front of himself, covering his dick, and he’s shifting his weight from side to side. Harry’s never had any complaints about how eager he is to suck cock, but he’s suddenly, chillingly, aware that Louis’ not totally comfortable. 

Harry sits back on his heels and looks up to meet Louis’ eyes. His heart pounds as he’s worried that he’s pushed this too far. “You okay? Do you not want to?”

“I do,” Louis says quickly as his eyes grow wide. “I really do. I just—”

“What’s up?”

“I’ve been teaching tennis all day. This isn’t… I didn’t have time to shower.”

“Oh.” That’s all? “I don’t care about that.”

Louis relaxes, and strokes himself. Harry’s transfixed by the way Louis thumbs over his slit. He wants to do the same, with his tongue. “Are you—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Harry rushes out. It’s his turn to swat Louis’ hand away, and then he’s face to dick to the most perfect cock he’s ever seen. The perfect length to be a mouthful, and thick. Harry sticks his tongue out to kitten lick the bead of precome, and Louis grips at Harry’s curls. Then Harry dives in with fervor.

He takes Louis down all at once, until his nose is buried in the mess of Louis’ pubes. Louis smells, ripe. Musky. Like he’s been out playing tennis and sweating all day in the summer sun. Which he has. Harry doesn’t know why that’s doing it for him, why it makes it so much hotter, but he inhales deeply, letting the smell of Louis’ sweat infuse all his senses. 

He sucks hard, making sure his mouth is flooded with spit so it’s nice and wet for Louis too. He lets the tip of Louis’ dick rub at the top of Harry’s mouth, and flicks his tongue along the sensitive bit under the crown. He’s pulling whines from Louis’ mouth, and Louis keeps fistings at Harry’s hair. It’s just on the wrong side of painful and knowing Louis is losing control makes Harry work harder, ensuring that it’s the best blow job Louis’ ever received.

His jaw aches by the time Louis’ thighs tense and don’t let up. Louis keeps a steady hand on Harry’s head, keeping him pressed against the tickle of the thick thatch of hair. Louis comes in spurts, coating Harry’s mouth before he swallows it down. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Louis says, as he lets go of Harry’s head. Harry takes a few more moments where he is, head buried against Louis’ crotch, cock in his mouth, breathing deeply. 

“Don’t ‘pologize,” Harry slurs when he finally moves back into his own space. He feels light and floaty and he’s not sure he’s ever been so satisfied in his life.

He helps pull Louis’ shorts back up, flushing when he realizes how dirty the whites got while on discarded on the floor. “Hope that comes out,” Harry says.

“Fuck.” Louis chuckles. “Not sure how I’m going to explain that to my mom.”

Harry snorts. “You could just do your own laundry.”

Louis rolls his eyes with a fond smile. “Yeah. Yeah. Probably about time, huh?”

Harry smiles back. This is normally when he throws the stranger a flirty wink and flits away for another drink. He’s not sure what to do now. “Can’t believe I just got off with Louis Tomlinson. Thank you. That was. Really great.”

Louis turns to pick up his tennis bag, grabbing Harry’s racket while he’s down there. Harry takes the chance to stare at his bum some more. When Louis stands back up, it’s with a frown. 

“Is that… all you wanted?” Louis asks. 

“What?” Harry responds dumbly.

“Just… getting off with Louis Tomlinson?” He swipes his hair across his forehead, and slumps into one of his hips. “I… I dunno. Thought… we’d go out or something.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry. Maybe that’s dumb. I—”

“No. Not dumb. I—” Harry’s thrown by this change. “You actually want to go on a date?”

“Well. Yeah. This isn’t… I don’t do _ this,” _ he gesticulates at the small room, “normally.”

“Ha. Oh. Yeah, me either,” Harry lies. “Do you, still, want to, you know…”

“Take you out? Yeah. If you’re— if you want to.”

“I. Yeah. I’ve never actually been on a real date. Sorry that I like, misread—”

“It’s fine,” Louis says quickly. “This was… more than fine. Really. Like. So much fun. But maybe we could have fun with our clothes on, too.”

Harry laughs as Louis pushes his racket into his chest and opens the storage shed’s door. “Yeah, that, that sounds great.”

“Rain check though?” Louis asks. He motions towards his dirt-stained shorts. “Not really in a state to go out now.”

“Yeah, text me. I’m free… every night. Actually. So, whenever.” 

“Great.”

“Walk me to my car?” Harry asks. 

Louis smiles. “Treat you like a gentleman,” he mumbles.

“Think I’d like that,” Harry says. They walk through the parking lot in silence. After Harry unlocks his car and throws the racket in the back seat, Louis kisses him softly on the cheek. 

“See you tomorrow?” Louis asks.

“Yep. I’ll be the one blushing every time I look at the storage shed.”

“Oh my god,” Louis groans. “I honestly can’t believe we did that.”

Harry pulls him in for another kiss. “Text me. About the date, please?”

“I will. I promise,” Louis says. 

Louis waves goodbye as Harry pulls away, a smile plastered on his face. He’s got a feeling the rest of the summer is going to be one for the record books. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this fic or any of my other fics on any other websites. I'm not currently allowing translations either. Thank you for respecting my wishes. xx
> 
> [Here's a shareable tumblr post if you enjoyed it, and want to reblog.](https://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/post/187599827928/tennis-whites-louisharry-4k-explicit)  
[Here's a twitter link if you enjoyed it, and want to retweet](https://twitter.com/Lou_and_Haz_AF/status/1171072609397686274?s=20)


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